


Unsuitable

by TamIsMyFather



Category: Suits (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gen, Halloween, Humor, Mike in drag, Office Party
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-02
Updated: 2012-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-04 17:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/396310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamIsMyFather/pseuds/TamIsMyFather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I just pictured you in drag."<br/>"I could pull that off," Mike said. Except no, he really couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unsuitable

**Author's Note:**

> For my sister, who told me, "Whatever you do, don't write a Mike-in-drag fic."  
> You're my inspiration.

He really did have soft features, Harvey reflected as he stared at the mockery of human decency that was shambling its way through the office Halloween party.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much all Mike had going for him.

He'd tried, gotta give him credit for that. He'd clearly shaved (badly), and put on some makeup (badly), the heels were a blazing red that actually matched his dress, and the dress… sort of fit (badly). He'd even worn a wig that was almost, but not quite, entirely the wrong color.

Harvey could tell at a glance that the bra was the wrong size; what had his associate been thinking? Hadn't he ever heard of a tape measure? And he'd stuffed it with (Harvey gave him another quick glance to be sure)  _ packing peanuts _ . Except he seemed to have missed the part about women being mostly symmetrical, because he'd stuffed one side far too full, giving one fake breast the disturbing (and lumpy) appearance of being much larger than the other.

Oh God, Mike was heading this way.

Harvey could only watch in horror at the painful way his associate strutted over in his half-a-size too big heels. The kid clearly had no idea how to walk in them, as evidenced by the way he kept stomping and swaying with every step, much like the client in that dream Harvey always had where he was representing Godzilla. Except Godzilla would look much hotter in a dress.

"Hello," Mike said in a breathy falsetto that set Harvey's teeth to grinding. "A guy like you shouldn't be alone tonight."

There was lipstick on his teeth.

"Um," Harvey said intelligently, because what else  _ could _ he say? Where was his patented Specter charm when he needed it most, confronted as he was with a sight that would haunt even the Outer God Azathoth?

He would never be able to look his associate in the eye again.

Mike tittered in a way that was as far from  _ alluring _ as it was possible to be, and batted his caked-in-mascara eyelashes. "Harvey," he said in that voice that sounded like he was going through puberty, "Don't you recognize me?"

It was okay, he could do this.

"Um," Harvey said again.

"Or are you just trying to stay in character?" Mike went on. He was wearing painful clip-on earrings that rattled alarmingly as he tilted his head.

In character?

Oh.  _ Oh _ . Of course.

"I was just…  _ stunned _ . By your… feminine beauty," Harvey said in his best Captain Kirk impression. He wracked his brain for quotes and found them wanting.  _ Extreme feminine beauty is always disturbing. _ "I thought a… a Deltan must have walked through the door," he said lamely instead.

Mike grinned. "I told you I could pull it off!" he said proudly. He was using his normal voice, and somehow that made it even worse. He gave Harvey a little twirl, and Harvey was so, so grateful for the blur that motion brought to this debacle.

"Congratulations, you've seen me speechless," said Harvey. "I didn't know how to get my brain to work there for a minute."  _ Brain and brain! What is brain? _

No, best not to go there.

"Love your costume, by the way," Mike said. "Though, as I recall, wasn't Kirk usually all about how  _ great _ emotions are, and how we should all  _ care _ about each other?"

"And what are you supposed to be?" Harvey asked desperately. "A mass of conflicting impulses?" Okay, not a great quote, but at least he was moving away from the third season.

Mike grinned again, a disgusting strand of wig hair caught in his mouth. "You're just embarrassed that I totally fooled you!"

_ Lie, damn it. Lie. Lie. Lie. Lie! _ "Yeah," said Harvey through gritted teeth. "I hope… your oath of  _ celibacy… _ is on record."

Apparently, that sounded enough like Shatner to please Mike, because he just chuckled, punched him in the arm, and left to go get a drink.

Harvey could really use a drink, too.

Fortunately, Mike had moved on to terrify some other associate dressed as Superman, and seen from a distance Harvey had to admit that Mike's decision to dress as a train wreck was actually pretty entertaining, as long as it was happening to someone else. The blond, baby-faced lawyer currently being assaulted clearly had no idea how to process the sorry sight before him; he kept stammering and backing into the row of potted plants that had trapped him with this nightmare. But finally, deciding that the terror of the many outweighed the terror of the few, Mike took mercy on the poor fool and decided to mingle with the rest of the staff.

It suddenly occurred to Harvey that if he did not get Mike away from people very, very soon, it was only a matter of time before Louis found him, and Harvey did  _ not _ want to look at that sneering face as it said, "What's Ross supposed to be, Harvey? The last woman you dated? 'Cause she wasn't anywhere near that classy."

Wait, no, he'd just thought of a good comeback. Never mind.

"Harvey," Jessica said, appearing out of nowhere.

"Actually, he's dressed as your mother," Harvey said immediately.

There was a long, long silence between them.

"Nice talking to you," Jessica said, and left.

Harvey was very grateful he didn't have Mike's amazing memory, because that meant there was hope that someday he might actually be able to forget all of this.

Clearly, this was all Donna's fault.

"No, Harvey, of course it's not my fault," Donna said over her shoulder as he sneaked up behind her.

"You could have stopped him," he accused. "Don't pretend you didn't know."

"Of course I'm going to pretend I didn't know," she said. "Can't you tell by my costume?" Donna gestured to the generic brand of apparel she was sporting. "I'm one of you lesser mortals."

"Cute. You could have at least helped him not to look so…" Harvey gestured futilely. "Norma Bates."

Donna raised a completely ordinary eyebrow. "Are you telling me you  _ want _ me to turn your associate into the prettiest princess at the ball?"

"Don't act like you don't want to," he said. "You could have at least found him something to wear that wouldn't embarrass the hell out of me, something which I'm pretty sure is in your job description."

"I'm pretty sure it isn't, or you would have had grounds to fire me a long time ago."

"I'm not going to fire you; if I fired you, then why would you fix his costume?"

Donna considered that like the average human she was pretending to be. "How fixed are we talking?"

"Read my mind."

She put a hand to her temple and closed her eyes.  _ " _ Monty Python, or  _ Mrs. Doubtfire _ ?"

"I was thinking  _ Some Like It Hot _ , actually."

"Well, nobody's perfect." She smiled and ran a hand through her perfectly normal hair. "At least for tonight, anyway."

"Just work your magic, Mary Poppins, and remember that we  _ never had this conversation _ ." And, trusting in Donna, he left.

Harvey was not normally a praying man, but as the party wore on he found he was just about ready to start making monetary sacrifices at the altar of scotch and soda if that was what it took to get him through the night.

The night, unfortunately, had other ideas.

"Having fun?" Mike asked, joining him at the bar.

Harvey frowned. Donna must have decided that embarrassing the hell out of him was most definitely in her job description, because Mike's appearance remained unchanged from its gorgonesque configuration.

"I'm always having fun," Harvey said. "I've got people like you to make fun of."

Mike smirked. "Or maybe you just don't want to admit that I made you a little uncomfortable with how well I pulled this off."

Beer. Harvey needed beer. Beer made everything better.

"Did you see Louis?" Mike asked. "I can't believe him." He tapped his fingernails on the counter, the poorly-applied scarlet lacquer already beginning to flake off.

"Where's Donna?" Harvey asked, trying to look anywhere that didn't encompass the sight of Mike, Queen of the Desert. "I need to have words with her."

"About what?" Mike asked as he sat down next to Harvey. A few stray packing peanuts burst over the top of his dress.

"I need to talk to her about a conversation we didn't have."

His phone buzzed with an incoming text.

** I never actually agreed to anything ** , the message read.

It was possible he broke his phone when he slammed it onto the countertop; but then, he rationalized, he'd been getting sick of carrying it around all night anyway. (Did Starfleet have some sort of regulation against pockets in their uniforms? Or did they just hate people who had important things to carry?)

"Whoa," Mike said. "Easy there. How much have you had to drink?"

Obviously not enough, since his associate still looked like Lena Hyena's even more repulsive mother-in-law. He raised his glass. "Here's lookin' at you, kid." Harvey downed the whole thing and glared at Mike. Nope, still not pretty.

Beer it was, then.

His phone buzzed angrily, and he retrieved it from where it had been serving as a very inefficient coaster to read up on the latest ways in which Donna was trying to destroy his life. He did appreciate the advance warning, at least.

The news was not good:

**Sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.**

Well. At least there was a cure.

"Oh God, don't look now," Mike muttered, staring past Harvey's shoulder. Harvey turned around, ready to discover what new, tenth layer of hell awaited him.

His jaw dropped.

The first thing he registered was the fishnet stockings around a lovely pair of legs. His breath caught in his throat, and he glanced briefly down to see surprisingly dainty feet ensconced in a pair of graceful black stilettos, before letting his gaze rove slowly upward, taking in the garters attached to a pair of snug black briefs, the sparkly black vest that hung open over a manly chest, and finally the mane of curly black hair which framed a far too satisfied face that could only belong to one Louis Litt.

Harvey swore he could hear "Sweet Transvestite" playing in the background.

Louis grinned wickedly and took a step forward. And oh, but he could  _ work _ that outfit, swaying gracefully where Mike had stomped, arms swinging purposefully at his sides where Mike's had wheeled haphazardly through the air. Everything fit just right, his makeup was garish but somehow tasteful, and the wig did not look in any danger of swallowing his face whole.

_ Stunning _ couldn't even begin to describe it; he would have to have Donna hire a poet.  _ If I were a woman, and  _ I _ were not around, I should be in love with— _ Harvey's heart actually skipped a beat as he stared, entranced beyond all belief. He'd never be able to look Louis in the eye again. Louis Litt had ruined Rocky Horror for him. He would never be able to see Frank N Furter without sighing miserably with the knowledge that it could be this much better.

Louis should not be allowed to give him all these feelings. _ Harvey did not want those feelings. _

There should be a _law._

"Kirk? Really?" Louis asked. His voice sounded like music to Harvey's ears.

Harvey did not want Louis's voice to sound like music.

"Figures you'd go as the lamest captain in Star Trek history," Louis went on.

_ You can beam me up anytime _ , Harvey's mouth started to say. His brain stopped it. "Oh, I didn't know you were an  _ Archer _ fan," he said instead.  _ Wanna help me through pon farr? _

Louis raised a delicate eyebrow. "Yeah, that was a joke. I don't actually watch your lame show, because I have a little something called  _ taste _ ."

"But Rocky Horror? Really?" Mike spoke up. "Have a little shame, Louis."

Harvey turned to look at Mike, and all at once the spell was broken. He took in the bad hair, the awful makeup, the ill-fitting dress and the hairy legs, and felt a rush of relief at being properly horrified by the sight of a man in drag.

He was suddenly very grateful that his associate could give Medusa a run for her money, because as bad as having  _ those thoughts _ about Louis was, he never, ever,  _ ever _ wanted to be having them about  _ Mike _ .

He almost kissed Mike, he was so grateful.

But then he turned back to face Louis, and once again he was struggling to breathe.

A hush had descended across the room. Every eye was on Louis, and Harvey knew that every member of that office was just as dazzled as he was.

"Nice costume there, Ross," Louis said with a sneer. "Are you supposed to be Harvey's date?"

"Oh, I'm not dating anyone," Harvey cut in dreamily.

"Actually, Louis," Mike said, and the whole office was listening, "I thought I'd go as your mother."

The silence was thunderous.

And also, quite possibly, a little murderous.

To his credit, Louis didn't look shocked for long. "Congratulations, Harvey. You've finally managed to clone yourself. She's the spitting image of you."

Harvey was insulted. A little turned on, maybe, but insulted nonetheless. "Fascinating as this conversation is, I have somewhere to be," he said, standing and trying to keep his eyes fixed firmly on Mike. He grabbed his associate by the arm and pulled him along after him, forcing himself not to feel too regretful about leaving Louis behind.

"Oh man," said Mike with a shake of his head once they were out of earshot. "Can you believe Louis? Talk about a walking train wreck. I'm going to have nightmares for weeks."

Harvey was pretty sure his dreams would also be haunted by that image, but they wouldn't be nightmares.

Dear God, why couldn't they be nightmares?

"Uh, Harvey, where are we going?" Mike asked.

Harvey didn't answer, just pulled him along until he came to a stop in front of Donna, who was chatting happily with a frilly pink birthday cake that looked vaguely like that paralegal Mike kept mooning over.

"Hi, Harvey," Donna said brightly. "Did you find your cure?"

"Cure? For what?" Rachel asked, confused.

"Herpes," Harvey answered. He released Mike and resisted the urge to jab a finger in his secretary's face. "Don't pretend you had nothing to do with this."

"Did Donna give Harvey herpes?" Rachel whispered to Mike. Mike shrugged.

Donna waved her hand dismissively. "You wanted me to fix it, and it's fixed."

"I meant make it _better_ , not make me reconsider my stance on self-immolation."

"I couldn't have predicted that," she said.

Harvey scoffed. "Yes, you could!"

"Yeah, I could," Donna admitted. "I'm pretty awesome."

"Tell me, where do you keep your time machine?" asked Harvey. "Does it need to go 88 miles an hour before it takes off, or is it just bigger on the inside?"

"Sorry, I can't disclose that information. I'm under government contract."

Harvey was not to be deterred. "I should sue you for emotional damages," he said.

"Be my guest." Donna shrugged. "I know a good lawyer.

Rachel leaned over to whisper with Mike. "Uh, nice costume, by the way," she said dubiously. "It's very… authentic."

"Thanks!" he said, beaming. "It's been a big hit tonight."

"…Really." She looked a little ill.

Harvey glared at them. "If you two can't discuss what's happened tonight like rational adults, then do the rest of us a favor and get us some drinks."

Gaping, Mike let himself be led away by a thoroughly bemused Rachel.

Harvey turned back to Donna, glad at last for the chance to let their usual banter soothe his psyche to the horrors he had been witness to on this awful, awful night.

"Now," he continued, "Where were we?"

Because it was going to take a lot of banter to get Harvey through the night.

Banter, and a _lot_ of alcohol.


End file.
